Procrastinating on Purpose
A short essay about dwelling in an extraordinary moment.
Landing in your inbox a day late because three-day weekends will always break my internal clock! Thanks for your patience.
I’m on the cusp of sending my book out to agents. Though I’m not entirely sure of myself, the novel is sure of itself—a fact that surprises and delights me. I’m copyediting. I’m moving commas. But suddenly, my novel feels… capable. Like it could stand up and waltz out into the world all on its own.
This is exciting and scary because it means I’ve landed in a final procrastination stage. My fears and hopes have never been more present. I see myself wholly: A person who has written something that she loves reading and would like other people to read, too. A person seeking a type of connection that, for her, exists most exquisitely in words.
As I stood awaiting sunset in Mammoth last weekend, I thought about a Substack post written by the author
. The post is paywalled (and I would highly recommend reading the whole thing!), but I hope Chelsea won’t mind if I share one little snippet that came back to me as the sun hesitated right atop the mountains in the distance.“You will become a different person if you don’t quit before the miracle, if you take the body and allow the mind to follow (a great way to show up to a commitment you made but now don’t feel like doing—and to push through discomfort in general.)”
I’m realizing the miracle isn’t securing an agent, getting published, or even unpacking a cardboard box containing copies of my book—all of which I’ve so often dreamed of. The miracle, it turns out, is this feeling of watching my book “stand up” on its own. It suddenly feels like its own “thing”—not necessarily a person, but a being that’s whole and sentient, funny and strange, me and not me. As author Laura van den Berg said in a recent online novel editing class (and I’m paraphrasing here), the book is done when it feels like it is both of you and no longer yours.
I’m there. I’m terrified. I’m elated. I’m overwhelmed with emotion, to the point where even copyediting brings me to tears—because I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. I can’t believe I could write something that I love this much. The miracle has already happened, it turns out. The miracle is me, curled up on my couch, silently reading a story I pulled straight from my chest. A story that I sat and worked on even when it made me uncomfortable. Even when I wanted to quit before that miracle. Before the (yes, I know it’s hokey) sunset.
Of course, sending my book to agents means that others will read what I’ve written. Maybe they won’t like it. Maybe they’ll like it but won’t think it’s marketable. Maybe they’ll love it, and that will be the second miracle. If they do love it, there will be editing and selling and everything else—and how lucky I would be to participate in all of this. But right now, I just want to pause. I want to close my eyes and absorb this moment of standing in this dazzling sunset.
So! I’m giving myself this week to procrastinate and move commas. I want a little more time alone with my personal sunset before I hold its glow in my palms, hand it to others, and say, “look!”
It will just be us for a little bit longer—and then, well, we’ll see.
Thank you, as always, for reading. <3, Kells
Reading: Find Me, Laura van den Berg
Watching: Baby Reindeer (holy sh*t, you guys, what a ride!)
Eating: Vegan “queso”
oh, I love this!!! Huge congrats on the miracle you are living and your beautiful book.
The novel is sure of itself! 👏🏽 What a feat. Move those commas this week. Soon those commas will have a life totally independent of you.